Helpless
by pocoloca
Summary: The tragedy of episode "100" as told through the PoV's of seven of our characters. NEW Chapter 7: STRAUSS PoV. R&R!
1. Too Late

**Hey there, y'all. I had to write something after that horrible and awesome ep! So, here's a little thing about all the character's PoV's during 100. Hope ya like it!!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own this. If I did, Haley would still be alive. And Reid would be married to Prentiss.... hey, a girl can dream, right? :)**

Helpless

Chapter One: Too Late

PoV: Penelope Garcia

**Enjoy!**

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I have the hardest job on this team. I think, at least. It's hard in a different way from the others. And not just the hardest in the difficulty level. On the contrary, I find digging into the financial and medical records ad so forth of these creeps so much easier than digging into their minds. I take refuge behind my computer screens with my cute plushy toys and try to hide from the darkness that the others dive into headfirst. But there are times, when I have to go over tapes of a murder or something like that, when my job is truly the hardest. Times when I have to see and hear things so horrible that I regret ever hearing of computers or technology.

Times like these.

As much as I enjoy putting scumbags away, I always feel creepy when diving into the lives of the innocent ones. Like digging through the dirty little secrets of a town plagued by arson, or delving into the life of a woman being stalked to try and find out when they'd first crossed paths.

But even that can't compare to the way I'm feeling right now.

As soon as I patched them through to listen in on Hotch and Foyet's conversation, I got the most horrible feeling. I knew they needed to hear what they were saying so they could get there in time; so they could save Haley and little Jack. But still, it felt wrong. I think a part of me knew that we would be listening to the last conversation of two people who, divorced or not, still loved each other.

I knew it would be bad, but it was even worse than I imagined.

As Hotch talks to Foyet, he tells him that he is already famous, that he must be tired, that he can stop, I feel nauseous. Because Aaron Hotchner is begging. And I can practically hear the gloating in Foyet's voice as he asks Haley to open the gate and let him in. Hotch is begging, he's won. Hotch hangs up. So does Foyet. the line goes dead, and I lose the signal. Why do I always lose the signal at the worst times?

But moment's later it's back on again. I can trace the call, it's coming from Hotch's own home. They already know where he is, they're en route, but I call Derek up anyways.

"Foyet's calling Hotch."

_"Can you get us on?"_

"Yeah." I could usually come up with a return with a little more pizazz, but not now. Not when Haley and Jack are in trouble. I tap the line, and we hear it all, every single horrible word that will be burned into my memory forever.

_"Foyet?" _

It's not Foyet. It's Haley's voice that we hear on the line.

_"Aaron? You're okay?"_

_"I'm fine"_

_"But he said..."_ Realization dawns on the poor woman. She knows that there is a cold blooded killer right there in the room with her and her son_. "Oh, Aaron..."_

_"He can hear us, right?"_

_"Yes... I'm so sorry."_

Hotch sounds close to tears.

_"Haley, show him no weakness... no fear."_

_"I know, Sam told me all about him. Is he..."_

_"No, Sam is fine."_ Hotch lies quickly, trying to spare her even more pain.

_"Aaron, Aaron, Aaron..."_ I hear a cold, mocking voice cut in. She's on speaker phone, and he's right there next to her listening. But where's Jack? My heart leaps into my throat. He can't be dead already, or Haley would me more distraught. He must be somewhere close. I pray that he is okay. Foyet continues in the same gloating tone; _"Is that why your marriage broke up? Because youre a liar?"_

_"Don't listen to him, Haley..."_

_"I have Sam's service phone right here." _He says cooly. _"They sent out a mass text about his death. You can take a look if you want."_

_"He's trying to scare you..."_

_"Did you even tell her what this is about? About the deal?" _Foyet asks accusingly.

Hotch sounds desperate now. _"He's just trying to make you angry..."_

_"Well she should be, she's gonna..._" Strangely, he pauses, before spelling out the word; _"D-I-E because of your inflated ego!"_

He's pleading again._ "Ignore him, Haley..."_

_"I'm sure you dont want her to know this part either... Y'know all he had to do was stop looking for me and you wouldn't be in this mess?"_

I know that this will kill Hotch. My heart breaks as he cries in anguish; _"Don't react!'_

_"... What is he talking about?"_ She sounds overwhelmed.

Hotch doesn't answer. He can't. I know that what the son of a bitch just told Haley was more painful to Hotch than stabbing him nine times awake_."... Tell Jack I need him working the case."_

_"What?"_

Hotch repeats it. I don't understand, but I hope that it's something that will get the poor child to safety.

Haley sounds confused, but says, away from the phone; _"Jack, did you hear that?"_

He's right there with them, he can hear every word.

_"Hi, Daddy." _He says. My eyes fill with tears. He is so innocent, and children shouldn't have to go through these things.

_"Hi, buddy." _Hotch's voice breaks. This may be the last time he hears his son's voice. A tear runs down my cheek.

_"Is George a bad guy?" _Smart as a whip, that kid. He gets it from his father.

_"Yes, he is. But Jack... I need you on this case with me. D'you understand? I need you to work the case with me." _He's desperate, and close to tears. I don't know what to make of it, but Jack seems to.

_"Okay, Daddy"_

_"Jack, hug your Mom for me."_

Silence.

_"Mommy hug me too tight." _Jack says. He doesn't know that this might be the last time he sees his mother. The tear is joined by another.

_".. I'm sorry"_ Haley murmurs faintly.

_"Why are you sad?" _He says questioningly.

_"... I just love you so much..."_ She's crying now. So am I.

_"Mom, I gotta go, I'm working the case."_ The little boy says solemnly. There is a long pause as he leaves her for the last time. I wonder if he looks back at her, so he can remember what she looks like after she is gone. I try not to imagine the hell that poor, brave woman is going through.

The silence is interrupted by Foyet's cruel voice. _"He's so cute... Like a little Junior G-Man... I'll be right up, Jackie-boy!" _He calls this last part after the child, and I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach. The son of a bitch can not lay a hand on that child. I know the words are like shoving white hot branding irons into Hotch's breaking heart.

_"Is he gone?"_ Hotch asks after a bit. His voice is shaky, but controlled.

_"...Yes."_ Her voice shakes, too. She knows what's coming.

_"You're so strong, Haley, you're stronger than I ever was."_ He's so close to tears. Hatred flares up in me as I think about how much Foyet must be relishing this.

_"... You'll hurry, right?"_

_"I know you didn't sign on for this..."_

_"Neither did you."_

_"... I'm sorry for everything."_

These are not the words of hopeful people. These are the words of a woman who knows that death is coming in moments as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, and of a man who knows he won't be able to save her. These are words of regret, and forgiveness, and love, love that they denied themselves, but now, moments before death, must be expressed.

_"Promise me that you will tell him how we met, and how you used to make me laugh." _She's passing the torch to him. It's his job now...

_"Haley..." _He whispers her name with more love and pain than I thought possible. More than ever I feel as though I'm invading their personal moment, and once more I can't stop listening.

_"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron... I want him to believe in love, because it is the... most important thing.... but you need to show him.... Promise me." _She is crying. So is he. It's seconds away now. My body tenses. My heart breaks. I wait. He waits. She waits.

When I was young, I'd go in to see my doctor and sometimes I needed to have my blood taken, which I hated. But I mean, what seven-year-old enjoys getting stuck in the arm by a needle? Every time I went, the doctor would roll up my sleeve, rubber-tie it off so he could see the vein, and put cold rubbing alcohol over it with a cotton ball. I'd clench my teeth together and suck in my breath and tell him to tell me when he was going to do it. And every time, he'd count to three, and some time between "one" and "two", he'd do it. On the count of three, I'd yowl and screech in pain, only to realize a second later that it was already over. I'd go from shock, to indignation, to flat-out anger and ask the doctor why he lied to me. To which he'd always respond; "It hurts less when you don't see it coming."

Dr. Golde was a wise man, but he was only partially right about that. I've experienced a small piece of lead making its way quickly and violently through my body, and although I never saw it coming, it still hurt a damn lot. Poor Haley can see it coming, she's probably staring down the barrel of a gun right now. Hotch is right. She is so brave. And I know that it will hurt just the same, but only for a second. It is point blank, Hotch won't get there in time to save her. She will die, quickly, she won't have to go thorugh the pain of a surgery, she wont be ripped from her peace by 360 joules of electricity resterating her heart because by the time any medics get there she'll be long gone. She will never see her son's face again, hear her husband's voice. She will never laugh, or smile, or breathe, or love again. She will die. It's too late. We can't save her. No one can.

These thoughts run thorugh my head at warp speed, in the seconds it takes for Hotch to whisper through his tears, the last words he will ever speak to Haley Brooks:

_"... I promise"_

_Bang. Bang. Bang._

I burst into tears. It's over.

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**What did ya think? Love it? Hate it? Wan't more? REVIEW! Emily is the next chappie, should be along rather quickly, as I have most of it written already. This fic is like therapy after that insanely tense and heartbreaking ep! **

**Well.... what are you waiting for! Click the green button, and review, and you shall be rewarded greatly. (Shiny things, anyone?)**


	2. Brave

**Hi there! Thanks for yor nice reviews, and here's the second chapter. (I told you it would be up pretty fast :P). Anywhoo, this one's from Emily's PoV, and it picks up from where Garcia's left off. Enjoy!**

Helpless

Chapter Two: Brave

Pov: Emily Prentiss

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_Bang. Bang. Bang._

Three gunshots. I hear gunshots all the time in my line of work. It doesn't scare me, doesn't even startle me anymore. I am numbed to them, usually. But not today. Today, these gunshots rip through me like the gun was aimed at me instead of her. Just hearing the sound is almost physically painful because the poor, poor woman on the recieving end of them happens to be close to someone I am very close to. And I know that with those shots, part of his life is ending too.

I turn my face towards the windows and try to hold back tears. JJ is not so stoic. I see one roll down her cheek. No one breathes. Time has stood still. Morgan closes his eyes. Rossi bows his head. Reid seems frozen in shock, his eyes wide. I hear Garcia gasp thorugh the phone. I don't hear Hotch at all. Most likely he hung up. But not, I know, before he heard those shots.

My mind starts spinning crazy explainations as to how she could still possibly be alive. Foyet wants to torture Hotch. Maybe he fired into the air just to scare him. He did it with Hotch... right before he used his knife. It hits me that if Haley is alive, she won't be for long, and she'll go slowly and painfully. I know what we will find when we get to Hotch's house. I hope suddenly that she went quickly with the first bullet, and didn't feel any pain.

After an eternity, we arrive. His car is pulled into the driveway crookedly, a door still open and the key still in the ignition. He's here, and he was in a hurry. My heart seems to leap into my throat as I realize that, although there's almost certainly no hope for Haley, it's possible that Jack is still inside, scared or hurt or even...

Please not dead. That would destroy Hotch.

Morgan in the lead, we enter the house. Time still seems suspended, until we hear a loud crash, then thumping coming from another room. Everything goes into warp speed. We follow the sound, all the time my heart hammering in my chest, hoping, praying that Hotch and Jack are okay. That we won't find their bodies here.

My prayers are answered. We rush in the door, and I'm right behind Morgan, so I get a good glimpse of it.

The room is in shambles, no piece of furniture left unbroken or unused as a weapon. There is blood eveywhere, most of it coming from what used to be George Foyet's head, but now just resembles a chunk of ground beef. Someone is kneeling over him, sobbing and smashing his head against the floor. This is not Hotch. Hotch is in control, Hotch would not condone this. But Hotch left when he heard those three gunshots over the phone. This man is not Hotch. This is a man driven by blind rage and greif, and the need to protect his son. This is a man who has had everything taken away from him. This is a man who is out of control. I don't know who he is, but he is not Hotch.

Morgan pulls him off Foyet. He fights at first, but then gives in, falling back into Morgan's grip and sobbing. But only for a second. He pulls away and stumbles up the stairs. The threat is gone. Jack is safe, hopefully. I think Hotch knows where he is. We all follow him up the stairs. With all his injuries, I'm surprised he can make it. But his body, fueled by greif and adrenaline, is capable because his mind is entirely focused on his son. When we get up there, I can see a body in one room. It's Haley. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Hotch breezes past that room, heading for the end of the hall to what used to be his office. I linger in the hallway, and Reid and JJ follow Hotch. Morgan and Rossi stay with me. I walk into the room to get a better glimpse of Haley, but I have to look away. She's beautiful, even in death. Rossi takes one look at her, turns, and tells Morgan he'll go downstairs and wait for backup. Morgan nods, and walks softly over to Haley. He puts two fingers to her carotid artery and waits for a second. Then he looks up at me, his eyes filled with sadness, and shakes his head.

I need to get out of here. Morgan seems to understand. He's still kneeling beside Haley. I don't know where Hotch or the others are. I turn and go into the hallway. A young crime scene tech walks by me. I stare at him without really seeing. I walk down the stairs, and almost go out the front door, but I turn and walk into the dining room instead. Big mistake. This, I can tell immediately, is where it happened. This is where she stood bravely as he put three bullets in her head and chest, stopping her heart and killing a part of Hotch that he would never get back.

I remember their last words, Hotch's final promise to teach their son about love. I realize that this was her way of telling him that she loved him still, despite everything they went through, and my heart breaks again. If she had survived, if we had gotten here sooner, maybe they would have had a real chance to love again. But there is no bringing her back. She had left him for good this time. I stare at the blood on the floor, on the walls, and remember a woman that I hardly knew. I remember the night of the Superbowl three years ago and how happy Haley had been then. I was new back then, only with the BAU for a couple of months at the time, and I remember how shocked I was that Hotch was actually smiling. He looked so happy when he was with her, almost like a totally different person.

The person he'd been that night wasn't my boss Hotch. That person had been Haley's husband Aaron. The person that he would never be again. The person who was barely holding on, and would be lost completely if not for the little life somewhere upstairs that tethered him to her, the woman he'd loved and lost.

I can't be in this house anymore. Compartmentalization be damned, this is too close to home to be objective. This is the spot where the mother of my friend's child was murdered, not for anything she had done, but because she was just a pawn in the cruel game of a sadistic narcissist with a grudge. This is where her heart stopped beating, where her story came to an end. This was where she had hugged her son goodbye, too tight, and where she had forgiven her husband with her last few words. This was where she had cried bravely as he killed her.

Tears in my eyes, I rush out the front door as JJ comes out with Jack. Not a scratch on him. He smiles at me and waves hello, and I know that as much as it hurts right now, Hotch will go on, because this child needs him. I know the despite the horror we've all seen today, there is hope. There is a future full of light and love. I remember Hotch's last promise to Haley. I look at her son, their beautiful, smart, brave, wondeful son and I vow to honor her last request, because love really is the most important thing. Love is the only light to counteract the darkness that we throw ourselves into, love is what gives us a future.

I only wish Haley could be here to see that future.

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**Finito! Sorry is was so short. Had to shove that little moment of optimism there at the end... I can never write truly angsty stuff, it's something I shall have to work on. Anywhoo, REVIEW s'il vous plait! Oh, and the next chappie will be Reid. So... um.. yeah. REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**


	3. Pain

**Chapter Three is here! Woo hoo! It's Reid's PoV, and I always get sort of carried away when writing as him, so I apologize in advance if he seems to bubbly. I write him like my own thought process, I dunno why. But yeah. Maybe it's the geeky-awkward type thing we share. Whatever. ENJOY!**

Helpless

Chapter Three: Pain

PoV: Spencer Reid

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I'm no stranger to pain, I'll be the first to admit it. Especially since joining the BAU. Not to sound self pitying, or anything, but I think my medical bill is the highest of all of ours due to work-related injury. Work-related injury, as if it's some sort of unavoidable accident that it would be if I had any other normal job. No, not accidents. Well, maybe the anthrax thing. But that was sort of my fault. You don't just go wandering into unsecured houses that might be contaminated with a deadly strain of... but I digress.

Suffice to say, I've experienced my fair share of all sounds like I'm whining about my bad luck, but I'm not, really. If it has to be either me or anyone else on my team, I'd choose myself over them any time. Because I know, too, that the only thing worse than having pain inflicted on yourself is watching someone you love going through it.

Like today.

As I said, I've experienced pain. I've been tortured, drugged, beaten, blown up, inhaled poison, addicted to Dilaudid, shot, held hostage, kidnapped, and knocked out more times than I can say. But to see his face as he runs up the stairs to see if his son is still alive...

It seems like I don't even know the meaning of the word.

He has to be alive, he just has to. If he's not, it'll destroy Hotch. And he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve any of this. I see his face as we pass the room where Haley lays, clearly dead, nothing we can do to save her. Part of him, I know, died with her. But he has no time to go to her. Jack is somewhere in this house, and Hotch seems to know where. I remember that horrible phone call, Hotch's repeated request for Jack to "work the case" with him. I think maybe this has something to do with it.

My mind flashes back to a hospital emergency room, kneeling on the floor with my hands tied, trying to discreetly get the gun while catching blow after blow from Hotch as he yells "Front sight, trigger press, follow through!" The man has a gift for code in dangerous situations. Heaven knows it saved my life in Georgia, and now it may have saved Jack.

That thought brings with it another. I owe Hotch my life. He's saved my life more than once, and I can do nothing to save him now. I can't turn back the clock and make it so this never happened, I can't reverse the fact that Foyet had always had it planned out so that despite our best efforts, he was always one step ahead of us. I can't save Sam, I can't save Haley, and therefore I can't save Hotch. But maybe he could save Jack.

He has to be hurting. From the way the house looks, I can only guess that they'd been fighting for a while before we got here. Everything looks demolished, there are bloodstains everywhere, and I can't tell which are from Haley, and which belong to Hotch or Foyet. He's bleeding, his hands in particular are covered in blood, again, whose I do not know. He doesn't seem to care. All he wants now is Jack, because Jack is the one bit of Haley that he still has left, and he can't lose that. He can't lose Jack.

He turns a corner and we're in what used to be Hotch's home office. Uniquely to the rest of the house, it's immaculate. Nothing out of place, no blood, no sign of a struggle. We'll have to wait to get the full story, but I can only guess that Foyet intended to wait with Haley, to see Hotch's face when he saw his dead wife, to see his utter anguish, before killing him and then moving on to Jack. I feel nauseous at the thought, but I'm relieved, so relieved, that chances are he's somewhere in here, safe and sound.

But then... then there's the possibility that Foyet has killed him already (please, God, no) and has put him in here somewhere, where he knows Hotch will come looking for him, only to devestate him more. But he can't know where Jack has gone, can he? The moment of relief when I figured out that Hotch has a clue where his son is evaporates, and again is replaced with terror that Hotch will suffer more, when he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve it at all.

Hotch goes to a small chest next to the desk. He hesitates for a second before opening it, a second in which I glance back at JJ and see my own fear reflected in her eyes. I know that she's thinking of Henry, and what she'd do in Hotch's situation, and my heart is breaking for both of them

He opens it, and, thank God, I can hear his voice.

"I worked the case, Daddy, just like you said.'

Hotch's voice trembles with supressed emotion."You did a great job, buddy."

We turn the corner, and see Jack, not a scratch on him, looking at his father with concern.

"What happened to you, Daddy?"

"I'm okay. I want you to go outside with Ms. Jareau, okay?"

Jack nods, and with a glance at Hotch, who is barely holding back tears, turns and walks to JJ, who picks him up.

"Come here, sweetheart."

He locks his arms around her neck, and I try to smile encouragingly at him this newly motherless child, my mind flickering to a sanitarium in Vegas. I need to call her when I get home, and tell her I love her. JJ looks at me with tear filled eyes, and they go downstairs, leaving me alone with Hotch. He's still kneeling on the floor, face in hands, the tears that he wouldn't let his son see now falling freely. I know the feeling well. The danger is gone, his son is safe, his system stops pumping the adrenaline that has kept him from breaking down this whole time, and everything sinks in.

Sam Kassmeyer is dead.

So is Haley.

He has just killed a man with his bare hands.

Jack is safe.

Jack is his responsibility now.

The magnitude of these five truths sinks in, and the dam bursts. I've worked with him for seven years, and never once seen him cry. I feel, once again, as if I'm invading some private moment, and I want to leave him alone, but I just can't. In all these years, Hotch has never once abandoned me in a time of need. In fact, he's one of the few who haven't. I can't leave him alone. I need to be here for him, like he was there for me all those times. I start to go towards him, but he stand up and turns around. He is still crying. After seven years of hiding his emotions, his vulnerability from us, his team, he doesn't seem to care anymore. And why would he? He's lost almost everything, what does he have now, besides his son, to care about anymore?

It is that thought that makes me do what I do next. As he passes me, I reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. He turns to face me, his face so full of anguish that I am taken aback. In all my years working for the Bureau, I don't think I have ever seen anyone looking so utterly lost and hopeless. So I do the only thing I can do. The only human thing to do in this situation. I give him a hug.

I know, I know. I'm not the person anyone would want holding them in their time of need, but all I can think about right now is how he did the exact same thing for me when I was so tired, drained, and vulnerable. When everything was too much, he was the one who was there for me, so I will be there for him too. He starts to cry again, and I try to think of something to say, but there are no words for this. So instead, I let him lean on me because I need him to know that he doesn't have to go through all this alone. I will be right bere beside him, we all will be.

After a moment, he seems to collect himself a bit. He pulls away, and says in a shaky voice "Thank you." Then he turns and walks away a few steps before turning back to me. "Reid, I need to... I need to see Haley. Could you go downstairs and help JJ with Jack? He... he loves your magic tricks." I nod, and Hotch thanks me again. Then he takes a deep, shaky breath, and goes into the room where Haley is. To say a last goodbye.

I go downstairs and find Jack, JJ, and Emily waiting, trying to distact the kid from all the officers and paramedics milling about. I join them with a forced, fake smile. Emily, JJ and I meet eyes over Jack's head, and an unspoken agreement passes between us. No matter how hard it is, we will all be right beside Hotch through the pain he's going through.

After all, that's all we can really do.

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**And there it is. A little piece of Reid-ness. And just to explain myself, my favourite scene in all of the 100 episodes of CM is the end of Revelations where Hotch hugs Reid in the cemetary. I'm sort of obsessed with that hug so I tend to allude to it whenever possible, and I just couldn't resist. I love it when my fave characters hug. If I owned the series, there would be less killing, and more hugging. It'd make for crappy TV, but I think the world would be a better place, don't you? But again, I digress. My point is: REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW if you want me to shut up with the pointless rambling on hugs, etc. REVIEW!!! :P**

**I'm not kidding. Green. Button. GO!!! LOL sry about this, it's one in the morning and I just had an energy drink. Oh, and the next chappie is coming right up in about five minutes. Literally. It's JJ's PoV. So, yeah. Review, por favor! And I shall shut up. Cheerio!**


	4. Hide and Seek

**Aaaaand, we're back for chapter Four! Woo hoo! Only three to go! So..um... yeah. This one is JJ's perspective, and strangely, I found it really hard to get into her head. That's why this is so short. Again, my apologies for the shortness. Regardless, as always, I hope you enjoy it!**

Helpless

Chapter Four: Hide and Seek

PoV: Jennifer Jareau

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"I worked the case, Daddy, just like you said."

He's okay, thank God, he's okay. I know I'm being selfish, but I needed Jack to be okay because if he wasn't, all I'd be able to see is Henry, and I wouldn't be able to live with that.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I want to slap myself. Why the hell am I thinking of my own child, who's lived a happy life with both parents who love him and each other, when poor Jack has just lost his mother to a cold-blooded serial killer? What is wrong with me? And how am I thinking of myself when Hotch is going through this hell?

Poor Hotch. This case has taken everything from him, he seems to be just a shadow of the strong, detached leader that I've known for six years. A month ago, hell, a day ago, he'd never have cried in front of us. Or shown any sort of weakness or vulnerability for that matter. But now it's all he can do not to break down completely, and truthfully, I think that that's more for his son's sake than ours.

He lifts Jack out of the chest, trying to smile, to be strong for his son. Trying to act like it's just another game of hide and seek.

"You did a great job, buddy."

"What happened to you, Daddy?" He's as perceptive as his father.

"I'm fine." Hotch says, dodging the question. He's a master at that. "I want you to go outside with Ms. Jareau, okay?"

He glances sideways at me, and I nod. Jack walks towards me, and I kneel on the ground and pick him up. He's heavier than Henry, but not by much. I'm trying not to think about my son, or Will, but I just can't help it. I don't want to think about what Hotch must be going through right now, but I can't stop myself. If anything were to happen to Will... or Henry... I take a deep breath to steady myself as tears come to my eyes at the very thought, and I feel like someone has taken ahold of my heart and squeezed. Poor Hotch. I need to talk to him later, one parent to another....

But right now I need to focus on Jack. He's holding me tight, and I think he knows that something is wrong. Not everything, he doesn't know why his Daddy is so upset, or that he will never see his Mommy again, but he knows that something is wrong. I hug him back, and as we pass Spence, he tries to smile at Jack. I make eye contact with him, and blink back the tears that are froming in my eyes. He just looks at me. Then I leave the room.

Walking down the hall, I realize we're going to have to pass the room where Haley is. I can't let this little boy see the body of his dead mother, and I momentarily panic. Then I shift Jack so he's facing me.

"Hey, sweetie." I put a mask on, one that I frequently use at home when I'm talking to Henry after a particularily trying case. I smile so widely my face hurts, and try to think of something to disctact him as we pass Haley. But he says something first.

"Miss Jareau?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Why is Daddy sad?"

I try to think of an answer. "He's... he just missed you, that's all."

"Did he get the bad guy?"

I'm so relieved that he didn't ask me where his mother was that I almost smile. Almost. The innocence of the question catches me off guard and almost floors me, and I'm happy that, despite what he's been through, he still has that innocence. But he's waiting for an answer. "Yes, honey. He got him."

Jack smiles at that, and while he seems to be distracted, I hurry past the room where Morgan is still sitting with the body. After a second, his face grows serious again.

"Miss Jareau, did George hurt Daddy?"

Again, my eyes fill up with tears. Yes, Foyet hurt Hotch. He hurt him so much that there's no way a four-year-old could grasp that kind of pain. He'd forced himself into Hotch's life, and left him broken, hollow, and scarred, both inside and out. The nine stab wounds would heal in time, but the other damage done... he would never recover from that.

But I can't tell Jack that. So I lie to him. "He'll be okay."

Jack nods and lays his head on my shoulder. We make it down the stairs and out the door, into the fresh air of the sunny suburban street. Out here, it would be hard to imagine the horror and violence that has just taken place in the large, beautiful home. It would be, if not for the officers and medics running around. I need to get Jack away from all this. I see a spot under a fair-sized tree that would block him from all the activity. We go over there, and I talk to Jack. I ask him questions about kindergarten and TV, things that kids his age should be worried about. He asks for his trucks, and, not wanting to go back inside, I ask one of the crime scene techs to get them for me. He takes one sympathetic look at the innocent, unknowing little boy next to me and nods, hurrying towards the house.

He arrives back a minute later, and not a moment too soon. As soon as the truck is in Jack's little hand, some of the medics come out with a body bag. I shudder, transfixed by the sight of it. But Jack is the priority here. I take a small red racecar and play with him, distracting him until Emily comes out and joins us. Soon, Spence joins us, too. Our eyes meet over Jack's head, and a silent understanding passes between the three of us that we have to protect him from all this. Then Spence kneels down next to Jack and pulls a quarter from his ear.

Jack laughs and claps his hands delightedly, and demands to know how he did it. Spence tells him that a magician never reveals his secrets, and Jack scowls good-naturedly. Spence is so good at this facade, he's a master of hiding his pain. I envy his talent. It's all I can do not to break down crying, because everything is just so damn unfair.

It's unfair that Jack is out here laughing while his mother lays dead in what used to be his home, and that his father never got to say he loved her. It's unfair that Haley should die when she had no part in this whole mess, and that she'd never see her son grow up to change to world. It's unfair that all this had happened to a person like Hotch, who has given everything, always, to try and fight the darkness and make the world a better place for his family. It's unfair that he is probably going to take the fall for killing a suspect in cold blood, just like Elle did. It's unfair that I can go home to my boyfriend who I love and my son who's still, thank God, untouched by the evils of this world and Hotch can't. It's all just so damn unfair.

But of one thing, I am sure. Hotch will not raise this child alone. I will help, Will will help, we all will help. We will all teach this child about love, and friendship, and forgiveness, and light. We will teach him how to laugh, and how to use his father's strength and his mother's unbelievable courage to make the world a better place. We will not let them fall, either of them.

We will make her proud.

* * *

**And there you have it. Another supershort one. Anywhoo... next chappie should be along fairly quickly-ish... it's Morgan, by the way. He was interesting to write. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Oh, and a quick PS: I named this chappie after a song by Imogen Heap, which I highly recommend you check out. It's awesome. :) Now.... REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Constructive criticism is welcomed too :)**


	5. Helpless

**Back once again for Chapter Five. As promised, it's in Morgan's PoV. I thought this would be more difficult than it actually was, probably because I don't really think like Morgan, but I guess greif is greif no matter who you are. Anywhoo, this is the first chappie that I actually wrote, and it's where the title of the fic comes from. Just a little fun fact there. Anywhoo, ENJOY!**

Helpless

Chapter Four: Helpless

PoV: Derek Morgan

* * *

I don't enjoy feeling helpless. I don't think anyone does, really. It's probably the worst feeling in the world. To see someone you love going through so much pain, and not being able to do anything to stop it. I hate that feeling. Unfortunately, it's one I've faced many times in this job.

In Georgia, staring at a computer screen with a grainy image of Reid, bound, drugged, and being forced to choose one of us to die. In New York, standing on the asphalt amongst SWAT members and EMTs, hearing Hotch shouting for help. In Colorado, listening as Emily was being beaten by a psychotic cult leader and being rooted to the spot, unable to do anything to help her.

And now, I'm feeling it again. I wish, so much, that there was something I could do to help him, to save him from the pain he's going through. I wish I could turn back time and get here soon enough to save her, and by saving her I'd save him. I can hardly stand to watch as he walks through the door, staring at her body lying like a tossed rag doll on the floor. He doesn't take his eyes off her, and on his face I see more pain than I'd ever thought imaginable. The greif etched so clearly on his face that he doesn't even look like the same person.

And maybe he isn't. Bloody, bruised, dishevelled, tears streaming down his face, hes nothing close to who he was yesterday. He's nowhere near the man who never let anything get to him, ever, and taught me to do the same. He's not the unbreakable, stoic leader that I've come to respect so much.

He's... broken.

He crosses the room to where she's lying, and I step back and give him some room. A young crime scene tech approaches, and I tell him to go downstairs. There's nothing he can do to help.

He's kneeling by her side now, and all of a sudden he looks up at me, eyes filling with tears once again. Tears. It's funny, I was always under the conviction that Hotch's tear ducts didn't actually work. In my eight years of working with him, I've never even seen him come close to crying. But things change. He changed. He grew apart from the woman he loved once. He lost her. He lost her again, this time for good.

I manage to whisper a soft, "I'm so sorry, Hotch." past the lump in my throat, and it's all I can do not to join him in tears. I really am sorry, but that phrase is so overused and I wish there was a way to say how much I regret all this and wish he'd never have had to go through it at all. But I can't. All I can do is stand here, helpless once more as he kneels next to his dead wife in more pain than I can imagine.

He touches her cheek. It's cold. She's not there anymore, not really. His eyes well up and a tear rolls down his cheek, then another, then another. He picks her up and holds her tight, holds her like he would if he still could. Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet, it won't for a few hours yet. He holds her and cries, deep, desperate sobs from somewhere deep inside him, a place he kept hidden from the world and especially us, his team, but he doesn't care if we see it anymore. He doesn't care about much at all except the dead woman in his arms.

God, she's changed so much since the last time I saw her. Her hair is brown now, and longer like the bastard told Hotch in the phone call. She's thinner now too. But it's more than that. She looks...peaceful. More peaceful than she did the last time I saw her alive. Aside from the bullet holes and the paleness of her skin, she could be sleeping. It's good that she looks at peace. I hope Hotch can see it, but judging from the way he's still sobbing into her shoulder, I think not. To spare myself the torture of watching him in this pain, I think of the second last time I saw her. Three yeas ago, at the Superbowl party. I can't remember much about that night - it's too overshadowed by the horror of the nights after it - but I remember that she looked happy. They both did.

They were so in love. And I know, I'm not exactly the guy to say that, having little experience with that kind of love, but I could tell by the way they looked at each other that he worshipped the ground she walked on, and she felt similarily about him. I remembered them coming on to the dance floor hand in hand and they were so happy that I was glad that at least one of us had finally got it right. But apparently I was wrong. Only a few months after that, Hotch told me she'd left him. Their marriage had fallen victim to the job. Now she has too.

Crushing guilt sets in. I should have been more alert that night in Boston. I should have heard him kill the other detective, I should have been ready, and I should have killed the bastard before he could do this to Hotch. If I could spare him this pain, I'd do anything, but I can't. I'm helpless.

His sobbing gets louder, his whole body is shaking now, and he keeps saying "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.... I'm sorry..." over and over. I can't take it anymore. I go over to him, hesitantly put a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't shake me off, that's a good sign. I open my mouth, I try to speak, but no sound comes out.

After a while his crying quiets, and he lays her back on the ground; delicately, as though she were made of glass. He looks up at me with that same tortured expression, and it tears me apart inside that I can't do anything to help him. I suddenly find that I can speak again.

"Hotch..." I am shocked by the sound of my own voice. It doesn't sound like me. The greif that has rendered me mute for the last few minutes has warped my voice. It sounds shaky, rough, hollow. It is not strong like I need it to be right now. I need to be strong for Hotch. I clear my throat and try again. "We need to get out of here and let the crime scene techs do their thing. There's- there's nothing we can do for her. It's-" No good. My voice breaks off again.

Hotch closes his eyes and tries to collect himself. I call Dave and tell him to send up some medics and a CSU.

Shortly after that, they arrive. As two of the medics start to cover her with a white sheet, Hotch, who has seemed frozen in a trancelike state, suddenly seems to come to life. He reaches for her.

"No..." His voice is off, too. There's nothing of the cool, authoritative tones he used to have. He sounds weak and scared. "Please, don't."

I step towards him and put a hand on his shoulder. This time he does shake me off. "Hotch, come on." I say gently, in the same voice that is not my own. "We can't help her now, she's-"

"No... no, I can't leave her, Morgan. I can't leave her again. Not again. I can't..."

"Hotch..."

"No." I feel like I'm being punched in the stomach. I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear Aaron Hotchner begging me not to make him leave his dead wife so they can take her away to the morgue with her killer. I don't want this to be real. I want to wake up now.

But I don't. Instead, I nod to the medics. The finish covering her up, and I can't bear to watch Hotch's face as he looks at her for one last time. Hotch is trembling as they take her away. As they leave the room, he collapses onto his knees, sobbing uncontrollably again. I don't know what to do.

Thankfully, Dave walks in at that moment. Now that Haley is gone, I guess he can stand being in this room. He looks at me, and I look back, helpless. He walks over to Hotch.

"Aaron." His voice cracks, and it seems like he may start crying, too. "Come on. It's over. There's nothing you could have done."

Hotch doesn't seem to hear him. Rossi looks up at me, and I cross the room to where they are. Rossi and I help Hotch up, he's still shaking, but the tears have subsided for now. I think he has nothing left.

I think about what Dave just said, the lie he just told Hotch. "It's over." It's not over. It might never be over, not for Hotch. He'll be plagued by nightmares about this day probably for months, years even. He'll never stop thinking about the close call with Jack, or imagining what he could have done to save Haley. Although it's not his fault, I doubt he'll ever stop blaming himself for all this, no matter what we tell him.

This is the reality, and it's one that we are all going to face. We are all helpless, yes, but maybe we can be helpless together. Maybe that can make all the difference.

* * *

**Well, there ya go. Chapter five is DUNZO. Chapter Six is a tricky little bugger, because it's Rossi, and as much as I like him, the man is a mystery. So, it may take a while. Just a heads-up. Anywhoo, as always, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! Go!**


	6. Speechless

**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!**

**Sorry, just had to get that off my chest. I swear, I am NEVER writing Rossi EVER AGAIN! I mean, i love the character and all, but man, it is freaking IMPOSSIBLE to get into his head. So this chapter may not be very good, as hard as I tried. Blame Rossi for it. LOL. Anywhoo, I apologize for the ridiculously long delay, but as you can see I've had a heck of a time writing this chappie. And I've learned my lesson. No more Rossi for me. Soo, I'll shut up now. Hope you enjoy it!**

Helpless

Chapter 6: Speechless

PoV David Rossi

* * *

I'm one of those guys who prides himself on always having a snappy retort. Always. I'm a smooth talker; how do you think I've gotten into (and out of) four marriages, and escaped with my life intact? It certainly comes in handy in this line of work, when interviewing serial killers, et cetera.

Not today, though. Like I said, sometimes, my gift of the gab is useful. Sometimes it can save lives, like during the standoff in Colorado. (Although, to be truthful, that was a joint effort, not just me talking to Cyrus). But there are times, such as these, when it turns out to be just as useful as a Ph.D in juggling. Times when my "talent" is rendered utterly useless, because there simply are no words.

Times like these.

I'm already in shock from seeing Hotch beating Foyet's head against the floor like that, because when you know someone for almost twelve years, you think you really know them. Especially if you spend as much time together as Hotch and I do. But seeing him lose control like that... it was unprecedented. When someone keeps their emotions bottled up like he does, a breakdown is inevitable. But I never thought it would really happen to him, for some reason. I guess because I knew it would take a lot to make a controlled, strong man like Hotch break. But someone did accomplish it, and I wasn't prepared at all.

And now, while I'm still trying to get over that, I see Haley lying dead and bloody on the floor with a bullet hole through her chest. I am completely blindsided once again, because I told myself when I heard those shots that I'd be prepared for whatever we found when we got here... but there was no way I could have prepared myself for this.

She's just laying there, so peaceful and pale and all I can think about is how the last time I saw her - not counting that day in the hospital - was on their wedding day. She looked so happy and vital, the beaming bride as she walked down the asile towards Aaron and vowed that they would be together till death did them part. As she said "I do" close to joyful tears, and she'd kissed him for the first time as Mrs. Haley Hotchner and how I couldn't remember any of my own weddings seeming this true. I thought they'd be forever. I never thought it would end like this; so violently, so senselessly.

So I leave the room. Morgan and Prentiss can handle it. They don't know her as well as I did. Although we only met on occasion, I knew her. I knew her from the way Hotch used to talk about her, how strong and smart and funny she was. How understanding she was about his job and its demands. I knew her. And now she's gone and I can't be in the same room with her body because if I am, I'll break down for sure and I can't do that right now because I need to be strong for Hotch. I need to try to help him through this because I'm the only one on the team who has felt anything remotely close to how he's feeling right now.

But Emma wasn't the same. Not at all. I didn't spend eight years married to Emma. Hell, I'd never even slept with her. But I'd loved her, and her death cut me deep down to the quick. But even that differed from Haley. Emma, I know, died quickly. She didn't see it coming. She didn't have kids to leave behind, or a sister to miss her. She died in a car crash, an accident. Haley was murdered, shot by a psychopath who didn't even know her while her son was playing hide and seek upstairs. She died not knowing what would happen to him, or what would happen to Aaron. She died scared, but God bless her she'd held her head high thorugh those last moments - or so it seemed - and didn't give the bastard what he wanted.

But regardless of how bravely she went, she still went. She went, leaving her ex-husband to greive, and her child to wonder where his mother is until he's old enough for it to sink in.

I leave the house. I go outside and direct the flood of EMTs and cops who swarm the house, too late. I busy myself with that for a while, making a concious effort not to think about what happened, to keep myself emotionally distant.

But then I hear a voice in my earpiece. It's Morgan. He says it's time, that they can take Haley away. I motion to two medics and send them up, lingering outside for a while and watching Reid, Prentiss and JJ playing with Jack, keeping him distracted and away from the chaos. Reid is doing magic tricks, and Jack has the biggest grin on his face. He doesn't know that he'll never hug his mother again...

... No time for that. I need to keep my head, so I go back inside. I wait in the hall until the medics roll by with a stretcher covered by a white sheet. I feel nauseous. But I know she's out of the way now. I enter the room they just came out of. Hotch is on the ground, sobbing so forcefully his whole body is shaking. Again, I'm at a loss for words. I've never seen him like this. I don't know what to do. I look at Morgan. He looks back, helpless. I go to Hotch's side.

"Aaron..." My voice breaks, and I hold back tears. Barely. "Come on. It's over. There's nothing you could have done."

He's still crying. Years of bottled up emotions are spilling out. I can't do anything to stop it. I look to Morgan for help, and he crosses the room and joins us. We both help Hotch to his feet, and slowly his tears subside. Not because he's done, but because he has nothing left.

I don't know how, but we get him down the stairs. We leave the house and enter the bright sunlight. We head towards an ambulance; Hotch needs to get checked out at the hospital, but suddenly he stops.

"No..." he says, voice so shaky it doens't sound like his. "I can't go ...to the hospital. I need Jack. Where is he? Where's Jack?" He looks around frantically, as if terrified that Foyet got him too. I put a hand on his shoulder and try to get him to calm down.

"It's okay, Aaron. He's with Reid and JJ and Prentiss. He's fine. He'll meet you at the hospital."

He seems to calm down a little after that. Morgan and I lead him to an ambulance. While the EMT is checking him out, Morgan looks from me, to Hotch, to the others with Jack. He doesn't know where to go. I break the silence.

"I'll go with Hotch. You and the others can meet us there. Get Garcia, too. She can help distract Jack. And..."

My voice falters. Morgan finishes for me. He looks about ten years older than he did this morning. I think we all do. "Someone has to notify the family."

"Notify Jessica." I correct. Her parents are both dead, her son and husband are right here with us, that leaves only her sister as immediate family.

He sighs. "I'll do that."

I nod and turn back to the ambulance. Hotch is already inside, and I hop in too.

He's not crying anymore, thank God, but this silence is almost worse. You can practically feel his greif permeating the air like a thick fog, making it almost impossible to breathe. Again, words fail me. What do you say at a time like this? "I'm sorry" is too cliche, too average for this. This is monumental. And so, for the first time I can remember, I, David Rossi, Mr. I-Have-A-Comment-For-Everything, am rendered speechless.

"It's my fault, Dave."

I look down at Aaron. He looks so dishevelled, so battered and so utterly defeated that I wonder if he'll ever be who he was again.

"What?"

'It's my fault." He repeats in that same hollow, lifeless voice. "All of this. It's my fault."

"How... how can you say that, Aaron?"

"The deal." He whispers.

My mind flashes back to that God-awful phone call, and how that sonofabitch taunted Hotch about it. Said that Haley wouldn't have been in this mess if he'd taken the deal. Apparently, it had gotten to him.

"Hotch, that isn't true."

"Yes, it is."

"No. Even if you had stopped looking for him, he would have found some other way to..." Hurt you? Break you? Destroy you? I was rendered speechless once again by Foyet's cruelty. "Look at what it did to Shaunessy."

"It was only him."

"What?"

"Only him. His family was safe. They didn't get... Oh, God. I should have... I should have taken it. "

And I should have seen this coming. I'd seen him outside that bus back in Boston. I saw how torn up he was about those seven strangers. I should have known that the pain of losing Haley to the same man would be unbearable for him. But the only condolance I can offer is denial.

'No...'

"Yes. If I had, she'd still be... oh, God. Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Haley. I'm so, so sorry."

He's crying again, and I can't do anything to comfort him. Words fail me. I can't say anything at all, I can't do anything but watch as the man I thought I knew for ten years breaks down before my eyes. I look over at the driver. It's getting hard to breathe past the lump in my throat, and it feels like someone's grabbed ahold of my stomach and twisted. I have to get out of here. I wish he'd hurry up.

__________

About fifteen minutes later, I'm joined in the hospital waiting room by the others. I give them the news. Hotch is mostly fine, physically. He's got a broken nose, some bad bruising around the ribs, but nothing else is broken. He too a nasty blow to the head, so they want to keep him a few hours for observation before discharging him. He's sleeping now, totally drained, both physically and emotionally. I think he doesn't even look like the same person he was this morning. All the fight is gone right out of him. I tell Morgan, Prentiss and Reid the news in hushed tones. Garcia and JJ stay with Jack. JJ hasn't left the child's side since taking him out of the house. I know she's thinking of Henry.

We all decide to wait a while before going to see Hotch. We occupy the waiting room for a bit, keeping Jack entertained. Then, a few minutes later, JJ's cell rings. She looks from it to Jack. Garcia nods and tells her she'll stay with him while she goes to take the call. she comes back a few minutes later, then whisperes something to Garcia, whose face coveys shock, and, surprisingly, fury at whatever JJ just told her. Then, leaving her with Jack, she crosses the room to tell the rest of us the news.

"I just got off the phone..." she begins, her voice trembling with barely supressed anger, '...with Section Cheif Strauss."

Emily's eyes widened. "Not now. Even she wouldn't-"

"Apparently, she would." JJ said, her blue eyes flashing.

"She wants our statements, I assume." I guess. It would be just like Erin.

"If by 'statements' you mean 'dirt on Hotch', the yes. She wants statements."

Morgan grits his teeth. "From Hotch, too?"

"Of course."

"The man's wife was just killed!" he whispers furiously.

"D'you think she cares?"

"The woman is a black hole, there's no question." Reid says. "But what are we going to do?"

"We're going to tell her exactly what happened." Morgan says. "There's no way he can be blamed for any of this. It wasnt his fault, no matter what he says, no matter what Foyet said, no matter what Strauss says. We are not letting him take the fall for this."

An understanding passes between the six of us. We couldn't protect Hotch from this. We couldn't do anything to help Haley or Sam. We couldn't stop Foyet before he accomplished his task of destroying him. We were helpless before, but in this, we are not. We won't let Strauss put this on him. We couldn't protect him before, but we'll do it now. Maybe this is only the beginning of the trouble for Hotch and Jack, but the six of us will be there with them every step of the way. It's all we can do.

* * *

**And there you have it. This one was soooo exhausting to write. I swear, I must have deleted three times as much as I wrote for this one. So, yeah. Sorry about this one. I promise, I'll do better on the next chappie. Which is Strauss PoV by the way.**

**Which brings me to my next question. **

**Truth be told, I never intended to write Hotch's PoV. I said from the start, it would be seven chapters, always knowing Strauss would be the seventh. Because while I've written angst before, I don't know how well I'd be able to do THAT level of pain and grief. So, I never intended to write Hotch. But, I'm halfway done the Strauss chappie, and I'm feeling a tad unsatisfied with the way the fic is going to end, and I think that's because Hotch is missing. **

**So, I need your opinions. Should I leave it off a Strauss, who I know I can do, or should I carry on and do a Hotch one. If I end up writing and extra chappie, it will take a while, because if I do it, I want to do it right.**

**So give me a shout in your reviews; yea or nay for a Hotch PoV. I'll have a decision by the time chapter seven is posted. Thanks you guys! **

**Now, REVIEW!!!  
**


	7. Protocol

**Okay, here's the Strauss chapter. Strangely enough, I had a much easier time with the old crone than with JJ or Rossi. Weird, huh? Anywhoo, I figured I'd better post this one quick to make up for the ridiculously lengthy and frankly embarrassing delay on the last chappie. So... enjoy!**

Helpless

Chapter Seven: Protocol

PoV: Erin Strauss

* * *

I'm tired. I'm so, so tired and I don't want to do this right now. I should have known better than to let him promote from the inside, I should have been quicker to find a replacement- a level-headed replacement with no personal attachment whose judment would not have been so clouded and who would have brought some sanity to this case. If I had done that, I wouldn't be here today.

I've had more trouble from this team than all the others put together. What is it about these profilers that drives them to, at one point or another in their careers, resort to vigilante justice? First it was Agent Greenaway, shooting a suspect, a _suspect_, who hadn't even been charged with anything, in cold blood. Then Agent Gideon, who admittedly, never killed anyone, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that, if Breitkoff hadn't killed himself, Gideon surely would have. And then there are the whispers of Dr. Reid, and his... issues... after what happened three years ago. Horrible, of course, but Agents Gideon and Hotchner surely must have suspected something was wrong if almost everyone in the bureau was gossiping about it. And to leave it unreported... it was a danger both to Agent Reid himself, and to the entire Bureau. And now, this Foyet case. Very messy, and we're liable.

It doesn't matter what he did to deserve it, George Foyet was brutally murdered by Aaron Hotchner. And that makes us liable. Agent Hotchner is facing suspension at the very least, and arrest at the most, and from the level of co-operation I've been getting from his team...

If one thing must be said about Aaron Hotchner, it's that his team is fiercely loyal to him. Not one of them has had one bad thing to say about that man. Of course, that makes my job all the more difficult. They have personal feeling clouding their judgment, their memories, which makes it extremely difficult to get a clear, unbiased account of what happened that day. Don't they understand; I'm not here to deal with feelings, I'm here to get the facts. I am not their therapist, I am their Section Cheif, and I will get to the bottom of this. And no matter what they were each going through personally at the time, the cold, hard facts remain.

Aaron Hotchner murdered George Foyet on the Twentieth of November, 2009. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head, causing skull fracture and brain damage resulting in death.

Agent Hotchner was personally involved in the case, and had a personal vendetta towards Mr. Foyet.

Agent Hotchner separated himself from his team so that no level-headed person could prevent him from doing what he felt he had to.

These are incontrovertible facts, and yet his team (yes, _his team- _ I fully believe that Agent Morgan is nothing but a proxy leader who remains to be controlled by Hotchner) absolutely refuses to co-operate, and challenges me in almost everything I say.

Especially taking into account the fact that they all seem to hold me in the highest contempt. I don't see why; all I have ever done was hold the reputation of the Bureau as my highest priority; a reputation that continues to risk being tarnished because of the antics of this team.

So now, after dealing with six irate, emotionally charged profilers, I am forced to interview Agent Hotchner himself. I take two Advil before he enters the room. I already have enough of a headache, and feel nauseous after spending the last two hours discussing what happened that day. What happened to Sam Kassmeyer was horrendous enough, and I've always been rather squeamish. I don't need this right now...

But here he is. I see him getting off the elevator through the windows in the conference room. He's brought his son with him. I certainly hope he's not thinking of bringing the boy in with him. I wouldn't be comfortable discussing such matters in front of such a young child. But, no. As he approaches, Agent Prentiss, who we've just dismissed, greets them. i can hear them through the open door.

"Hey, sweetie." Agent Prentiss greets the boy. At least, I hope it's the boy. An inappropriate inter-team relationship is the absolute last think I need from this team right now.

"Hi Emily." A high, sweet voice replies.

"You don't mind taking him?" That's Agent Hotchner, I know. But there's something diffrent about the sound of his voice. I can't quite put my finger on it...

"Not at all, Hotch. We'll do whatever we can, you know that."

"Thank you." A pause, the Agent Hotchner continues, to his son this time, "Okay, buddy. I have to go in and talk to some people for a while, so you can go upstairs and play with Emily and the other for a while. Okay?"

"Okay, Daddy."

"See you soon, buddy."

Through the window I can see Agent Prentiss walking to the elevator, stooping a little because she's holding the child's hand, and I soften for a moment. He's so young to be going through such a tragedy. I wonder if he understands that his mother is dead. I glance over at the file on my desk, lying all but forgotten a little to the right. Haley Hotchner's medical report. Terrible, of course, what happened to her. I had spoken to her on occasion, and she seemed like a lovely person, totally undeserving of her fate, and for a moment, I have misgivings about this whole thing.

But then the door opens, and Agent Hotchner walks in, and I brace myself for the headache that will inevitably come soon.

It's not that I don't like the man. On the contrary, I believe that he and I are cut from the same cloth in a way. When he started at the Bureau, I certainly saw a lot of myself in him. Ambitious, driven, well-liked by his peers, dedicated but still somewhat detached from the job. I admit, I greatly respected the man, and expected great things from him. But over the years, his behaviour has grown inexplicably erratic, and he has fallen short of my expectations and disappointed me more than once. I certainly did not approve of the way he dealt with Agents Reid and Greenaway. And ironically, he is here today for almost the same offence that caused Agent Greenaway to resign.

I expected him to walk in the room, head held high, the same confidence, dignity and aloof demeanor that he had always exhibited. I expected him to sit down and tell me I was wrong about everything, and show me every bit of quiet contempt that his teammates had. I expected him to be cool, calm, detached, the man I had dealt with before.

There was no way I was prepared for what I was met with.

He enters the room with none of his usual presence. He makes eye contact with no one, staring at the floor with empty eyes. He looks pale, and much older than he did the last time I saw him, as if stress and grief have sucked years from him. He takes a seat, still staring at the floor, and says nothing. I am completely thrown, but then I remember the possible ramifications of this case on the reputation of the Bureau, and I begin.

"Please state your name and rank." I say cooly, proffesionally.

"Senior Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, from the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia."

My God. He doesnt even sound the same. The voice is still the same cool monotone, but now it sounds hollow, empty. He's not even pretending to be the man he used to be, not putting on a brave face. It doesn;t take a profiler to see that this is not a man who is interested in hiding his grief. Either that, or he just doesn;t care anymore if anyone sees. I get over my shock fairly quickly.

'Please state your account of what happened on the Twentieth of November, 2009."

He takes a deep, steadying breath and begins his account in the same empty monotone. I listen as he tells of everything that happened that day in detail, as if he'd giving testimony in court. I remember he used to work as a prosecutor, so he knows the importance of an accurate statement. Strangely enough, I'm getting more co-operation from Agent Hotchner himself than the rest of his team combined; but the victory seems hollow when I realize that it's only because all the fight has been taken out of him.

He tells us of how they tracked Foyet to his apartment from the prescription drugs he took due to the injuries he inflicted upon himself. He tells us of their realization that he was watching Sam Kassmeyer as a way of finding his family. He tells us, his voice lower now, of finding Kassmeyer, tortured and delirious in his apartment, and his voice falters a little as he tell of Kassmeyer's subsequent death. So many lives wasted...He tells us what he learned from Kassmeyer; that Foyet had found his wife thorugh the phone, and lured her back to her own home.

Then he grows quiet for a minute and closes his eyes. He seems to be preparing himself to relive what happened next. I feel a little nauseous. I prompt him, wanting to get all this over with.

"Your teammates said that Foyet contacted you?"

He takes another deep breath. "Yes. He- he was already at my house. I didn't know it at the time, but I figured it out from what he told me."

"And you didn't wait for your team or some other form of backup."

"I couldn't wait for my team. They would have taken too long, and I thought if I got there fast enough I could..." His voice trails off, leaving a horrible silence. "A while later I got another call... it- it was Haley this time. he was there with her... and Jack. I asked her to give Jack the phone and told him to go hide." He stops for a moment. I notice he's breathing a little faster now, and gripping the chair so hard that his knuckles have turned white. He's barely fighting back tears and so am I, knowing full well how it all ended. "She was alone with him. Haley knew... that she didn't have much time left. I knew I wouldn't get there in time. And then... then I heard three gunshots, and the line went d-dead."

His voice isn't the same monotome anymore. It's shaking, and his eyes are teary. This, more than anything, shakes me. Aaron Hotchner does not cry. But here he is, sitting right in front of me on the verge of tears. I feel like someone had grabbed ahold of my chest and squeezed. And strangely enough, although I have spent my entire day fighting with his colleaugues trying to get "accurate" statements that would incriminate him, I suddenly do not want him to take the fall for this. In fact, I don't want to hear anything more about this case at all. I want him to stop, I want this to end. I don't want to hear his account of what happened next. But protocal still stands; I know it and he knows it. So he continues.

"I got to the house about six minutes later. I was...to late. I secured the main floor, and found blood leading upstairs to the master bedroom." He closes his eyes, trying to block out the sight that has probably haunted his nightmares since that day. "It was her, Haley. I was too late. I could tell right away that she was... But I realized shortly after that Foyet was in the room with me. I... I shot at him, but he attacked me. And then..."

Then I know full well what happened. He and Foyet had evidently been fighting, and Agent Hotchner, after subduing the suspect, had repeatedly and forcefully bashed his head against the floor until he died, only stopping when the rest of his team arrived and Agent Morgan pulled him off of Foyet. Hotchner recounts these last few moments in surprisingly little detail, in contrast to the rest of his statement. I believe now that this is because he does not remember much about it. Most likely, the trauma of the moments preceding this had caused a rush of adrenaline, causing a fight or flight response in Agent Hotchner. It is evidence that will hold up in any court or internal ivestigation. I no longer desire Agent Hotchner to take the fall. I truly believe from hearing his testimony that he should be cleared of all charges. He has suffered enough.

I look towards him. He has relaxed his grip on the chair arms. He seems to have absolutely nothing left. He's still trapped in the memory.

"There was nothing I could do for her. She was already..." His voice trails off one last time.

He looks so beaten, so broken, so utterly helpless and empty that I feel I need to give him something, some sort of comfort, something to hold on to, but I can't think of anything. But then I see it out of the corner of my eye, the manila folder. I open it and put on my glasses, reading quickly. I give him the only thing I can.

"She died fairly quickly. One of the wounds severed her aorta and they don't think that she..." Silence. I look at him for a moment. He still hasn't made eye contact with me or anyone else in the room. I close the folder, take off my glasses and look directly at him. He needs to hear this. It's the only comfort I can give him. "And they don't think... she suffered much." My own voice shakes and I have to force the words out around a lump in my throat that is making it difficult to speak.

I'm done here. I have everything I need. But protocol demands I ask one last question.

"Agent Hotchner, what do you think would have happened if George Foyet had gotten up from that floor? If you didn't kill him?"

He pauses for a second, and when he speaks, his answer comes surely. "I don't have to think; I know... he would have tried to kill my son, too." He blinks back tears as he thinks of what could have happened; how much worse it could have been.

I think of my youngest son Michael. How sweet he is, how innocent. I think of what I would do if he were threatened. More importantly, what I wouldn't do to protect him. And suddenly, I understand with absolute clarity why Agent Hotchner did what he did. It wasn't just because of the people who were killed ten years ago, or even the eleven new victims after the "Reaper's" decade-long hiatus. It wasn't just because Foyet victimized him in his own home. It wasn't just because of the brutal, cold-blooded murder of his ex-wife, although all those factors, especially the latter, did have huge impact. In the end, it was the instinct to protect his son at all costs. As a mother, I understand that. As a Section Chief, I understand that his reaction can indeed be justified when the inevitable IA investigation takes place. There is no reason, no possible way for him to be held in any way liable for his actions.

I turn off the recorder and turn to my colleagues.

"Any questions?"

They shake their heads, thankfully. I rise from my seat and they follow suit, grabbing their things and leaving the room. They are as thankful as I am that this mess is over. An overwhelming sense of relief comes over me as I realize that I do not have to cause him any more pain. The relief is hollow though, as I see the look on his face. The utter hopelessness, and I feel that same compassion take over once more.

"Agent Hotchner." He was starting to get up from his seat, but then sits again, his face looking resigned, as if I'm going to repriman him yet again. "I am so sorry for your loss. And if you or your son need anything..."

He pauses for a second, then quietly says "Thank you." He looks at me directly for the first time since entering the room. Then he rises and leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

I stay in the room for a while after, thinking about what I can do, how I can help Agent Hotchner and his son get through this. Perhaps I can try to get him early retirement so he can raise his son. I'll have to talk to my superiors, but I'm sure I can manage. It's the least I can do.

But now, I have to get home. I think about Agent Hotchner's story all the way home. I pull in the driveway and hurry up the steps to the front door of my house. My two oldest daughters are in college, and not home right now (I'll have to call them later), but my boy is. I go up to his room and knock on the door.

"Come in" Michael replies.

I enter his room. He's sitting on his bed watching a hockey game as usual. I cross the room, sit on his bed, and wrap my arms around him. He's surprised at first, but after a second, hugs me back. A small tear forms in my eye, and I blink it away. I realize how blessed I am to have a family. After hearing Agent Hotchner's testimony today, I don't think I'll ever take them for granted again.

So as I hold Michael, I say the three words that are long overdue. "I love you."

* * *

**Aaand there it is. Cheesefest 2009. Oh well, i figured I ought to end at least one outside the team. So whatdja think? Love it/ Hate it? Constructive feedback is encouraged as usual!**

**As for the next chapter... I will be writing a Hotch chapter to wrap this thing up. It may take a while, as I haven't even started it yet, but it will come. Thanks for all your support and feedback!**

**So now.... REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!  
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